


Dean Winchester: Pie Maker and Angel Doctor

by LadyNimrodel



Series: Fallen Angels [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fallen Angels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNimrodel/pseuds/LadyNimrodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knows that pie can't make Cas an angel again but he hopes it'll persuade him that being human isn't so terrible after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester: Pie Maker and Angel Doctor

“We have a kitchen now,” Dean blurts out over a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs. Sam stares at him with tired eyes from his end of the table, which is weighed down with books (nothing unusual there). The expression on his face shifts between incredulous and confused, “Like a real, honest to goodness kitchen,” the incredulousness on his brother’s face grows. 

“Um, yes we do, Dean,” there is a question buried in Sam’s reply, something between “should I break out the holy water” and “my bother is a fucking moron”. But Dean ignores him because he is having a revelation. 

A kitchen means an oven. 

An oven means he can bake things. 

Baking things mean pie. 

And man, after all the shit they’ve been through in the past couple of months, he can really use a steady supply of pie. Apple pie, cherry pie, lemon meringue pie. The possibilities are endless. It isn’t like he can’t cook, either. He’s already proven that over the past few weeks in their time back at the bunker and really, even Sam admits that Dean’s hamburgers are the best he’s ever had. After all, cooking isn’t all that different than doing a spell (though the ingredients are infinitely more eatable). 

So it stands to reason that he’d be able to make one kickass pie. Or maybe twenty. With Sam looking at him like he’s lost his mind, Dean feels a bright, tingling energy to make a damn pie. Slapping his palms on the table hard enough to make some of the books jump, he grins at his little brother. 

“Pie, man! I can make as many as I want now!” the excitement bleeds into his voice and he lets it. Despite his obvious efforts not to smile, Sam’s lips twitch. 

“Do you know how to make pie?” his brother asks, obvious amusement coloring his voice. That is good; amusement is good. It’s better than the apathetic exhaustion Sam had been wallowing in since the aborted third trial. 

“Dude, if I can whip up a summoning spell for a fucking archangel, I can follow the recipe for a damn pie,” Dean states as he grabs the laptop idling on the table between them and brings up a search for a recipe. He is rewarded with a shake of Sam’s shaggy head but the smile is still there and that’s also good. It has been getting better, slowly, but at least Sam is able to stay awake for more than 5 hours at a time now. During their first week back at the bunker, his brother couldn’t get out of bed. 

Dean had worried, naturally, but he is beginning to learn that whatever doesn’t kill them outright only makes them that much more unbeatable. Even then, the rules of death (namely staying dead) seem to bend for the Winchester brothers. The trials indeed nearly killed Sam but every day, the dark exhaustion that had built in hollow rings under his eyes lessen and a little color is beginning to bleed back into his skin. No, Dean’s real concern right now was the huddled figure on the couch in the next room.

There are things he’s faced, things that go bump in the night, that rip people apart, heart, throat, limb from limb. He’s faced Lucifer, beings older than time that possess unimaginable power and homicidal angels that don’t know or have forgotten the meaning of mercy. He’s been to Hell and then to Heaven and even to the place where the monsters go when they die. And, after a while, the terror is ground down by grim purpose. There are things he needs to do and fear only gets in the way. It is impossible to save the world when he’s blinded by terror. 

But when the angels start falling from the sky for the first time in years, terror almost blinds him. 

He calls for Cas, over and over, first out loud and then a long, steady mantra in his head. There is no doubt, however, that Castiel can no longer hear his prayers. His wings and his grace are undoubtedly gone and Dean’s chest cramps at the possibility of his angel falling in a streak of fiery doom. His worry and his fear is so visceral, it takes him long, precious moments to make himself move because he can’t take his eyes from the flames streaking through the sky. Sam, nearly unconscious from the aborted trial, is his first priority but Dean’s entire body shakes as he hustles his brother’s giant frame into the Impala. 

He waits. 

They book it back to the bunker, Dean driving recklessly as the last of the falling angels disappear from the black sky. Sam shivers and shakes in the seat next to him and he does his best not to think about Cas. Cas fallen, Cas alone, Cas once again human and laying in a crater after having fallen from heaven. Cas broken, shattered, left to his despair. He needs to get his brother back home (it was weird to have a place other than the Impala to call home) so it is impossible to go out and look for the angel. Everything in him screams to find Cas, find him, you must but Sam can barely fend for himself and Kevin, still at the bunker, is in no shape to take care of the broken Sammy. 

And he waits.   
A week he waits. Waits for Cas to find his way back because he needs to believe that Cas can, can find his way back to the bunker. 

Surely he can. Right? 

Yet as each day passes, his hope that Cas will manage to find a way back dwindles and the need to slip back behind the wheel of the Impala and just drive begins to eat at him. Finally Sam is able to sit up and keep down some broth so Kevin volunteers to keep an eye on things (it feels like he’s pushing Dean out the door actually and he wonders if he’s been so twitchy and irritable that Kevin can’t wait to get rid of him) while Dean goes out to get more supplies. They are running low on groceries and at least this way he gets out of the bunker for a bit. As he leaves, he refuses to think about Cas and resolves not to go haring about the country searching for the angel. Or former angel. Dean doesn’t know. 

Though Dean never really put much stock in faith, he must be clinging to something very similar. Faith that Cas will come back. He always comes back. He needs to come back, Dean really, really needs him to come back. 

Perhaps that’s what did it; his faith in his blue eyed angel (is he still an angel, even though he’s lost his wings?). On that very trip, while driving into town, Dean sees him, the familiar figure in the tan, raggedy trench coat. A slumped figure, shoulders rounded, messy head bowed. Even from the road, defeat is evident in every line of his body. 

Dean is pretty sure he leaves an inch of rubber on the road as he slams on the breaks. 

Apparently his faith has not been unfounded this time. Sometimes he wonders if he’s crazy, remaining loyal to the angel that has betrayed them over and over. But that stubborn trust is never smothered entirely, despite how Cas’s betrayals completely tear him apart inside. He hopes that at the end, before the fall, the angel did the right thing. Dean doesn’t think he can handle it if Cas had made another conscious decision to fuck them all over. 

But if that is the case, he fucked himself over too. 

It isn’t. 

They were indeed betrayed but it wasn’t by Cas. And as terrifying as it is that Metatron closed the doors of Heaven for something as petty as revenge, the relief that Castiel had not been part of the duplicity is knee weakening. 

Relief quickly morphs into apprehension when he flings himself out of his car and skids to a stop in front of Cas’s slumped form. Dean calls the former angel’s name, touches his shoulder, the curve of his cheek and it’s like he isn’t even there. The familiar light in the big blue eyes is flat and broken and he realizes that what happened means more than just the falling of the Heavenly Host. 

Cas has lost his family. 

Even though so much shit had gone down in heaven and the angels more or less shunned Castiel, they are still his brothers and sisters. 

And now they are all lost. 

Dean returns to the bunker minus the supplies he had gone out for in the first place but plus one sad, broken angel. 

Who is no longer an angel after all.

\--

For that moment he kneels between Cas’s knees after he finds the former angel and witnesses the blank despair that deadens the familiar blue eyes, he bakes a classic apple pie with a butter pastry crust and copious amounts of whipped cream. Being that it is the first pie he’s ever attempted to make and is a little more difficult than a blood ritual (which, strangely enough, he is beginning to see are rather straight forward) it takes him four tries before he gets it right. Even if it doesn’t look exactly like the picture on the Internet, well, no one has to know. 

However it looks, it still tastes awesome. Sam can say the filling is too sweet all he wants but he still polishes off three and a half slices. Kevin eats nearly as much, expression more relaxed than Dean has seen in…well, ever, really. 

Watching the two of them sit there and devour something he made sparks familiar spark inside of him. It takes him a moment to realize exactly what it is but he isn’t really surprised when he does. It is the same feeling he used to get when he dressed his brother every morning since he was four until Sam was old enough to dress himself; the same feeling when he made sure Sam was fed and safe and did his homework and remembered to brush his teeth. It is the feeling of taking care of someone, someone he cares about. This time, it comes with the odd, satisfying rush of knowing he’s done well. And it isn’t just Sammy this time either. The smile on Kevin’s face, after seeing the suffering the boy had gone through, is extremely gratifying. 

But there’s one person who does not allow him that feeling. 

Leaving Sammy and Kevin to the rest of their dessert, Dean takes the plate he set aside at the start and moves into the adjourning room. Cas is huddled in a cozy, if somewhat ratty, woolen blanket, one of its edges curving over his head like a makeshift hood. Shadows cling to his face. Despair and grief color the hollows under his eyes. And it hurts Dean to see it. Sam is okay and Kevin is….getting there but Cas is not. If it is the last thing he does, Dean thinks, he is going to make Cas okay too. 

“Hey man,” he cajoles as he sits on the couch beside the angel, “I made some pie. You should get it while you can, before Sasquatch devours what’s left,” If worry leaks into his voice while he spoke, well, he wasn’t about to pretend he wasn’t. Cas has barely moved in the three days he’s been there and he’s eaten even less. His lips are pale and his eyes sunken. Dean is positive he could see the jut of shoulder bones through the blanket Cas is bundled in. When he does eat, it is so sparingly that he’s beginning to think that the angel doesn’t want to live anymore.

And perhaps Cas doesn’t. He has lost more than Dean can fathom; his home, his Grace and what was left of his family. But fuck, he is going to do everything in his power to try and change Castiel’s mind. 

Hence the pie. 

Now, don’t get him wrong. As much as he loves pie, he knows that it certainly can’t save lives or whatever. It’s no miracle food. There’s not much of a nutritional value in pie except an overdose of sugar that might keep him going for a while when he might otherwise be caught out on an empty stomach. Nothing worse than getting caught by the creature you are hunting when he’s hungry. But right now, he needs the pie for another function. He hopes that it will kick-start Cas’s appetite and encourage him to move on to other food that his now human body needs to survive. 

It’s a sad thing to see, though. A once glorious angel, a soldier of heaven, a more formidable force than Dean could ever have imagined, forced to become a nearly powerless human with base needs. 

It isn’t like he hadn’t tried other things. He’s tried everything he could think of to chicken and salads to short ribs and hamburgers. Those had been a mistake. One whiff of the hamburger and Cas was throwing up in the near-by garbage can. It makes Dean cringe just to think about. The unpleasant experience was made even worse because it had surprised the former angel so much he’d nearly broken down in tears right there in the middle of the kitchen. Dean had felt stupid and horribly guilty after that because after famine, Cas had always become a little green around the edges when he was around anyone eating a hamburger. Which, really, is only natural. Famine had put Dean off of any food for a good week. 

The hamburger incident happened yesterday and Castiel has refused to eat ever since. Having worn out all other possibilities (he’s been in the kitchen nearly all day with no positive results) Dean isn’t too sure pie will work either but that doesn’t curb his determination. 

After everything they’d gone through, he refuses to lose Cas. 

Not again. 

And though he thinks that his pie idea is inspired (no, it has nothing to do with how much he himself adores it) as he offers the plate to the former angel, he is unable to squash a sharp niggle of doubt. 

“Cas, dude, don’t make me force-feed you,” Dean threatens though his voice is not a stern as he knows it can be. The flat blue eyes flicker to his face for a moment in what he thinks is a flair of old distain. It is gone as quickly as it came but Dean doesn’t care. It is something more than he’s seen in days and it makes his heart spasm with a white-hot burn of hope. 

Carefully, eyes never leaving Cas’s face, he leans forward into the former angel’s space and breathes in the soft scent of laundry detergent and something a lot like open spaces. It is very Castiel. The sharp smell of ozone is gone but the impression of something very free lingers. 

“Look Cas,” Dean swallows against his suddenly very dry mouth. Talking about his feelings and junk has nearly become a phobia (Sam’s words, not his) but this time, he’s going to say what needs to be said, even if he chokes on the words, “I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose your Grace or to know the doors to Heaven are closed.” 

They avoided saying the words “Heaven” or “Grace” or “angel” ever since he’d brought Cas back with him. Yet it is clear avoiding the issue isn’t helping any. Never the less, Dean’s heart clenches at the tiny, broken sound that escapes Cas’s throat. Grief and guilt line his friend’s face for a moment, long enough for him to read the emotions for what they are before Cas’s face is as smooth as slate once again. Reaching out, Dean tentatively presses a palm to one boney knee. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this but all of us here have lost family. We may not understand the angel thing, but we get grief. We deal with it on a daily basis. So I get it, I do,” Dean’s voice dips lower as he continues, making him sound raw and open, “Everything inside is a broken mess and even breathing hurts. You think the world couldn’t possibly keep turning because how can it?” As he speaks, Cas’s eyes, once so bright and unfathomably deep, find their way back to his face. Sam and Kevin are talking softly in the next room, a low, comforting drone that is easy to tune out. Their voices are much better than silence, at any rate. Silence reminds him of falling and darkness and he can’t bear that right now. More importantly, he isn’t sure Cas can either. Dean shifts closer to Cas on the couch and his tentative touch turns into a gentle grip. 

“I know you want to lay down and give up. Feels like it would be so much easier than going on, doesn’t it? After all the fucked up shit we’ve been through, it’s only fair that you should be allowed to roll over and die. I’ve been there,” He digs his fingers in when the dark head bows a fraction, almost as if Cas is acknowledging the truth of Dean’s words. 

“But you can’t,” Cas’s gaze sharpens and though he makes no outward movement, Dean can feel him tense. Lifting his hand, he gently touches the edge of the former angel’s jaw, feeling the soft skin under rough, wiry stubble, “I fucking need you, man. Did you think I’m lying every time I tell you that? When you go off on your own and don’t come back for weeks…I can’t handle that. You’re family and I need you to be here. It’s gonna hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt before but I promise I won’t leave you to do this alone, you understand me?” his hand, by this time, has slipped to cup around the back of Cas’s neck so his fingers can tangle with the stray, unruly curls of the former angel’s hair. 

Cas’s gaze remains, unwavering, upon Dean’s face. 

“I’ve always been right here,” his says roughly and maybe a little bit shyly because it feels like a confession. Slowly, as if he’d forgotten he is made from bone, blood and senew, Cas gives a stiff nod. Then his eyelashes sweep down, two slashes of darkness against the pallor of his skin and Dean feels something loosen inside his chest. When the deep blue eyes open again, he offers a small but encouraging smile, “So why don’t you at least try my pie before you turn it down, okay? It kinda kicks ass.”

Dean doesn’t pretend, as he rises from the couch and places the plate on his knobby knees, that brushing his lips against the angel’s hairline doesn’t happen. Nor does he deny himself the brief comfort of touching the tips of his fingers to Cas’s cheek, gesture affectionate. As he walks away, leaving the former angel to his pie, he can feel the way those deep eyes watch him, heavy on the flushed skin of the back of his neck. 

When he passes Sammy on the way past the table, he knows from his brother’s expression that he saw the entire exchange. The look he receives is warm, a small smile tugging at the corners of Sam’s lips and Dean feels lighter then he has in a very long time. 

\--

When he goes back to retrieve the pie plate, he finds only the crust has been left and Cas is fast asleep, curled up into the couch cushions and looking, for the first time in days, at peace. 

\--

For the broken string of apologies that fumbles out of Cas’s mouth after Dean finds him in that park, he bakes a cherry pecan crumble pie. 

The awful sound of the former angel’s voice, choked and so different from his usual strong, demanding tones, shakes Dean more than he’d like to admit. It takes him nearly a half an hour before he can get the true story from Cas and when he does, he realizes that this time, there are no apologies owed. Poor, misguided little angel. He truly believed in what Metatron sold him. Too late he’s learned his mistake but he hasn’t learned it by betraying anyone. 

This time he is the one betrayed. 

And, despite everything, despite all the times Cas has turned his back and has blatantly disregarded Dean’s warnings, he doesn’t deserve this. 

High off his victory with the apple pie, Dean gets up early the following morning and, after checking to see if Cas is still asleep (he is) he heads into town. He used up all the flour yesterday and he needs more if he is going to keep making those pies. He buys every fruit that he can think of which will taste good baked into a crust, nearly wipes the store out of its flour and sugar and earns himself a bunch of wide-eyed stares from other customers. He doesn’t care. He’s finally found something Cas will eat and if people stare at him, well, who really cares. 

This pie he only needs to start over once and when he pulls it from the oven, it is complete perfection. 

“Man, I know the circumstances suck,” Sam starts from where he is practically draped over the counter a few feet away. He should have known that the smell of the baking pie would bring his brother swooping in like a damn vulture, “But there’s a definite silver lining here, if you’re going to keep making these pies,” Dean eyes him as he puts the pie off to the side and shuts off the oven. Sammy has this hungry glint in his eyes that make Dean feel bad for the pie. He holds a warning finger up in his brother’s face. 

“Save some for Cas. I’m not making these for your oversized ass,” Sam just shrugs but the hungry look quickly turns knowing. Of course his brother knows why he’s going through all of this trouble. They’ve been together too long for Sammy not to have picked up on it. It, of course, being Dean’s thing for Cas. He wishes sometimes that there is nothing to pick up on but it been a while since he’s wanted to deny it. 

Since Purgatory, he thinks. 

Sam knows Dean would do the same for him as he’s doing for Cas. Has done more, in fact. And while Cas may not be blood, he is still family, is still theirs. Though Dean can’t think of him as a brother, per se. So if Sammy’s eyes are too knowing and his smile a bit too smug, well. Dean has become very good at ignoring things over the years. But what he’s not going to ignore is the fierce protectiveness that had risen within him. 

How the tables have turned.

So once the pie is cool enough, he cuts an extra big (somewhat over-zealous but hey, he is feeling much better about this thing than he had yesterday) slice of pie and takes it Cas. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says sunnily when the dark blue eyes snap to his face as soon as he steps into the room. He can almost hear Cas say it’s nearly one in the afternoon, Dean. That’s hardly morning, though the plump, chapped lips remain still, “I brought you my newest masterpiece. Voila,” he presents the plate with a flourish, a wide grin on his face. He is proud of this one, he must say. Better than the damn pies at the cheap roadside diners, thank you very much. 

Cas stares at the pie dish for a moment before raising his gaze and fixing it on Dean’s face. There is a long, heavy silence. Long enough that he thinks the former angel is going to just sit there and refuse to answer or even blink. A habit, Dean knows, one Cas hasn’t lost despite the fact that human eyes naturally needed to blink. And, just when he thinks that Cas is going to blow him off, a shaky hand sneaks out from beneath the blanket and clutches the edge of the plate that he’s being offered. 

Surprised but careful not to show it, Dean lets it be taken from his hand before he cautiously takes a seat on the couch beside his friend. 

Another moment of breathless stillness and then Cas picks up the fork and starts to eat small bits of pie. It is a dainty process, almost as if he is unsure and wary of making a mistake but at least he’s eating. Relief makes Dean a little dizzy and he can’t help the smile that curls over his lips when the former angel glances up at him. 

“Had to wrestle that last piece away from Gigantor, just so you know,” he says with a smile even though it isn’t really true. Sam knows, probably better than Dean does, why he is making the pies and it would sorta defeat the purpose if he didn’t leave any for Cas. Still, he thinks he sees the former angel’s eyes warm just a little when Sam yells from the other room, 

“I heard that!” It’s so worth it. Then Cas takes the first bite and he finds himself holding his breath. 

Hope burns strong in his chest. 

Dean tries not to watch as Cas eats his slice of pie, feeling somewhat foolishly as if the former angel were to catch him staring he wouldn’t eat. But he can’t help the way his eyes keep tracking over to watch as the fork breaks through the crust, as the fork filled with crumbles and fruit filling slips past Cas’s lips, as the blue eyes flutter when he begins to chew. The hope filling his insides swiftly changes to something else when he catches the angel’s tiny smile and then Dean has to look away lest he embarrass himself. Desperate to cover up his sudden confusion, he starts babbling about the first thing he can think of. 

“So, um, I was thinking about what kind of pie to make tomorrow and I have a bunch of recipes saved up…” he rambles as Cas eats, aware that the bright blue gaze is steady on his face as he speaks. He bumbles from the subject of pie baking to Sam’s filing frenzy (the giant nerd) to Kevin who has decided to stay with them for a while (every time he thinks about it, Dean is nearly overwhelmed with guilt because he feels responsible that the kid no longer had anyone left to go back to even if he is hardly at fault). There is one topic that he avoids entirely, though. One that he and Sam have spoken about in the quiet of the early morning hours so as not to be overheard, about the angels that were ripped from Heaven. Angels as a whole may be dicks but…

It is a terrible thing to think of, Heaven standing completely empty save for its human soul occupants. It bothers him, though Dean can’t say why. 

Even worse was how their Fall is affecting his angel.

Former angel. 

Dean is trying very hard not to think about that as he babbls about Charlie and how she had called about a case she’d found for them when Cas places the empty dish on his lap and touches Dean’s shoulder. The touch, the warmth and familiarity of it, stops Dean mid-sentence and he finds himself caught up in the warm, blue pools of Cas’s eyes. 

“Thank you, Dean,” the former angel murmurs, looking stupidly grateful and just a little less worn around the edges. Dean thinks that Cas is beautiful. 

His second, more bewildered thought, is that he was in deep, deep trouble. 

\--

For the deep, agonizing ache Dean feels in his chest every time he sees the hollow evidence of Cas’s grief, he makes a peach cobbler and tops it with vanilla ice cream before drizzling warm caramel over the entire pie. 

This one he’s stupidly proud of. Not only does it smell awesome but when he takes a bite, it made his knees a little weak. 

But that isn’t really why he’s proud of it. 

He was proud of it because no sooner has he pulled the pie from the oven and set it aside to cool does Cas show up, standing in the doorway looking rumpled and a little lost in his borrowed, oversized clothing. But there is an expectant hunger in his expression as he eyes the still-bubbling pie Dean has just set down. 

“Oh,” Dean says stupidly when he catches Cas standing there and ends up closing the oven a little harder than necessary in his distraction. The former angel just looks at him, hands twisted in the t-shirt that had once been Dean’s. Then slowly, as if he is unaware of it, lets his eyes slide back to the pie. It’s all Dean can do not to laugh. It seems that Cas is getting used to his human appetite but doesn’t know that it’s hunger that has pulled him off the couch and into the kitchen, “Alright there, Cas?” Dean asks, amused as those blue eyes keep flickering back to the pie. 

“I…” the former angel starts, voice more raspy than usual, “I smelt something and…” he stops, licks his lips and Dean watches the action with undeniable interest. It takes a minute to realize he’s staring at the way those plump lips shine and he can feel his face heating as he jerks his eyes away.

Uh oh. 

“Um, uh, yeah, that would be the pie,” Dean turns quickly to pile the used things he’d dirtied making the pie and sweeps it all into the sink simply to focus his sudden confusion elsewhere. Fuck. He knows what he feels for Cas is only second in its strength as his attachment to his brother. Even the strange, distant attraction isn’t really that new. Hell, the moment he’d seen Cas all those years ago in the barn, flexing his shadowy wings and exercising the tiniest bit of his power, he felt a low tug of something. As it stands, there is something about the angel that Dean has never been able to ignore. But this sharp flutter of something more is definitely new.

When he turns back around after taking a few steadying breaths Cas is still standing there but now his blue eyes are only watching Dean. Another flash of something hot and embarrassing threatens to overtake him. 

“It’s a little hot yet,” he says, pretending his voice doesn’t sound like he’s being strangled, “I just took it out of the oven,” the dark, messy head nods but instead of going back to the spot he’s dug out for himself on the couch, Cas wanders into the kitchen and sits at the small table. A moment later there comes a low growl and the former angel looks down at his stomach, shocked. 

Dean bursts out laughing. He can’t help it. Cas just looks so…scandalized that his body dares to make such a human noise. He laughs until his ribs hurt and tears collect at the corners of his eyes. Laughs until Cas is glaring at him even more unhappily than he had glared at his offending stomach. The last time he had laughed so hard, they had both been stumbling out of a brothel, Castiel righteously bewildered but laughing because Dean was laughing. It’s interesting that both times it’s Cas that makes him laugh with such abandon. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he tries to coax between bubbling rumbles of laughter, “I get it. Here,” he snatches a pot holder and picks up the pie, taking it and two forks with him to the table, “It’s gonna be hot but who gives a shit, right?” then, inspired, he holds up a finger and dashes over to the refrigerator where he pulls out a carton of ice cream. As an after thought, he pops into the pantry where Sam left a couple handfuls of caramel squares from his last supply run, pries them out of their packages and melts them in a bowl. 

He thinks, briefly, to get some plates. But he’s hungry and clearly so is Cas so he simply plops the scoops of ice cream directly onto the pie where it immediately begins to melt. The caramel sauce he pours over the entire thing. 

“Voila,” he holds his hands out like he just performed a magic trick and he is gratified when Cas gives him another one of his barely-there smiles. 

Between the two of them, they polish off the entire pie and both of them burn their tongues. Cas’s reaction to burning his tongue is stupidly adorable (and Dean will deny he ever thought that), hanging his tongue out of his mouth and looking completely clueless. No it isn’t adorable, damn it, it’s endearing and instead of licking the injury to soothe it like he suddenly wishes he can, Dean gets him a cup of cold water and tries to forget that he’d wondered what it would feel like to suck on Cas’s tongue. Seriously. What the fuck?

Cas stops eating after only taking just a small portion, placing his fork down politely onto the tabletop but he continues to look at the pie longingly. Thinking it odd, Dean swallows his own mouthful. 

“You don’t want anymore?” because it sure doesn’t look like the former angel wants to stop eating. Cas just eyes the pie though, a crumby, soupy mess of peaches, caramel and melted ice cream. 

“Should we…not save some for Sam?” he asks hesitantly, completely unaware that his fingers are twitching on the handle of his fork. Dean hides a grin behind another mouthful. 

“Nah, man,” he says through his food and earns himself a dirty look. It’s another victory, ray of light peeking out through the heavy cloak of Cas’s grief and Dean wonders if he even realized. There is hope that Cas will become Cas again, “Don’t worry, Sammy went to Illinois this morning chasing after a couple journals for the archives or whatever. He won’t be back for a few days,” a little bit of reserved hunger comes back into the sharp blue eyes. 

“Kevin?” Cas ventures and Dean shakes his head. 

“Supply run and picking then up a TV. It’ll be a while before he gets back,” Cas still hesitates, though he clearly wants more. Teasingly, Dean picks up another bite and made a show of eating it, closing his eyes around the fork and making a soft sound a pleasure. When he opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him, eyes huge and lips parted. 

Dean flushes and quickly chews his mouthful. He hadn’t meant to do that as a sexual overture but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t get it out of his head. Clearing his throat, he nudges the pie dish towards the former angel and manages an uneasy smile, “Eat the pie, Cas.”

After one more intense moment of staring, Cas does as he’s told and polishes off the rest of the pie, much to Dean’s delight. When he grins at him, Cas smiles back. 

Cas follows him when he gets up to clean their forks and the empty pie plate, drying them off and putting them away. His presence is calm and no less warm for all that he is no longer a divine being. It makes Dean breathe a little bit easier, observing Cas beside him; quiet but no longer desolate. No longer empty. It makes him think, for the first time in a very long time, that they may just all be alright after all. 

\--

For the night that Cas slips into Dean’s room in the middle of the night, haggard and terrified from a nightmare, he doesn’t make a pie.

He doesn’t make anything at all except space in his bed. 

It’s a week after he made the peach cobbler, and then the blueberry banana pie and the key lime pie (which turns out to be Cas’s favorite so Dean makes it twice) and the chocolate cream pie and the apple cranberry pie. They have moved on from pie now and Cas is starting to eat regular meals with them, though he always eats more of the pie than dinner. At least Dean is no longer worried the former angel would starve. Cas is still grieving for his home and his bothers and sisters but he isn’t going to give up on living because of his sorrow. 

Dean is surprised actually that Cas had not started dreaming sooner. He thinks maybe it’s because the angel was just too exhausted and his now human body was trying to catch up on lost sleep. Now that there are no more divine powers at his disposal, it seems like the last couple of years had come slamming down on his human body and when he isn’t helping Dean in the kitchen (mostly with dishes, though he’s broken more than one; it seems his reflexes are duller without his powers) or eating, he is curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. 

When Kevin set up the television he’d picked up on his last shopping trip and watches stupid sitcoms and lame soap operas (so what if Dean watches Dr. Sexy when it comes on) Cas sleeps through the babble like a practiced champ. And not once does he twitch because of a dream. All the shit they’ve seen, it should be a given that he’d have nightmares. Even Kevin woke up screaming most nights. 

But not Cas. In fact, Dean is beginning to think that maybe the former angel has maybe kept some of his…angelness, for the lack of a better word, that shields him from the bad dreams. 

If that was the case though, it seems to have worn off. Cas, who never had a nightmare before, reacts the way Sammy used to when he was a kid and woke up in the middle of the night from a frightening dream.

He seeks the comfort of Dean’s presence. 

Dean, having been trained most of his life to remain alert even in sleep because in his world being caught unawares means death, wakes the moment his bedroom door swings open on nothing more than a whisper. His hand is on the knife he keeps under his pillow, body tense and ready. In the yawning darkness of his open door, however, is not a monster but a rumpled, wingless angel. He relaxes instantly, concern taking over as adrenaline trickles away. 

“Dean?” the soft voice breaks through the silence of the early morning hours and he shifts, letting Cas know he’s awake. Though Dean can’t really see the former angel, he can hear the fracture of distress in the single utterance of his name.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” he whispers gruffly, body slipping back into tiredness now it perceived there is no threat. He’d only gotten to sleep an hour or two ago because he’d been helping Sam go through some of the research he’d dug up in one of the file rooms (why one place has three humongous rooms for storage he will never know) so he is groggy and muddled. Under him, his bed is welcoming and warm. 

In the doorway there is a soft shuffling sound and a very long pause. 

“It…it’s not real, right?” Cas finally mutters, sounding miserable and tense. Dean blinks heavy eyelids and rubs a hand over his face, wishing he could see through the darkness so he can read Cas’s expression. 

“What’s not real?” he asks, more gently than he felt like. Fuck he wants to go back to sleep. But something about this strike him with its importance and he forces himself to remain focused. There is more shuffling and he thinks he can almost see the way Cas rubs his fingers over the fabric of his borrowed clothes. It is a nervous habit he’d picked up in the last week from Kevin and Dean doesn’t have the heart to try and break him of it. 

“The…things I saw. In my sleep.” There is a sharp breath, like he’s remembering and his next question is achingly desperate, “They aren’t real, are they?” and instantly Dean knows what’s wrong. Of course Cas doesn’t know. He’s entered other people’s dreams, has walked through some of Dean’s, can, and often does, rummage casually through a human’s mind. But he is not equipped to deal with the horrors his own mind chooses to show him when his defenses are down. Cas probably knows they are nightmares but dreams never feel more real than in the dead of night with their ghosts still lingering in the air. 

And Dean knows of only one cure for that. 

“Close the door and come here,” he sighs, flopping back into his pillow and pushing the blankets back. His heart is racing in his chest because the last time he’d done this Sammy had been seven and, fuck, this is Cas. But the door has already clicked shut and there is a series of soft shuffles before Cas is looming over Dean’s bed, his figure appearing unsure even in the dark. Dean pats the bed next to him, “You can stay with me tonight.”

There’s barely a hesitation before Cas is sliding into the bed and curling up beside Dean. 

It is oddly not uncomfortable and Dean quickly finds himself tipping back toward sleep, Cas a warm, steadying weight beside him. But before he can drift off, a hand curls around his arm and the angel presses against his side, nose buried in Dean’s t-shirt. 

“You…you were dead. I killed you…so many times, I—“ aching, Dean reaches out and pulls Cas into him, no longer caring about the crisis he’s been going through the past couple weeks (or has it been longer than that). He needs to reassure Cas and he wants to hold him because words feel too shallow and useless. They press together, warm and right and Dean is just too tired to think about what that means. Cas rests against him and simply breathes and he decides that if he needed to examine this, he can do it in the morning. Now he simply curls himself around the former angel, breathes in his familiar scent and lets himself feel how well they fit. 

“ ‘m right here, Cas. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” and Dean thinks he hears Cas breathe his name right before he drops off again. 

Neither of them dream that night. 

\--

Now Dean makes pies because he can. 

He doesn’t make them every day. Sam is right; he needs to start eating things other than burgers and pie. But he doesn’t need to make them just for Cas anymore either (sometimes he does anyway, though, because he can’t refuse that huge, beseeching look the former angel sometimes adopts). After a couple of weeks Cas has slowly become part of their strange little family. He sits on the sofa and quietly watches whatever is on the TV, legs tucked up underneath him and expression usually questioning. Even with all the time he’s spent in the Winchesters’ presence, he still doesn’t get cultural references. Sometimes he even speaks up to ask a question. 

He always eats with them and has begun helping Sam sift through all the research and documentation that the Men of Letters had left behind. They avoid the news and papers because none of them are really ready to go on any hunts (also they discovered the hard way that leaving Kevin alone in the bunker for an extended amount of time ended badly) and instead occupy themselves with what they can in the bunker. 

Dean doesn’t mention the restlessness that sometimes settles under his skin. Cooking and baking helps with that sometimes, as if holding a spoon or a knife in his hands can make his palms stop itching. Cas always helps; in fact, Cas is usually always in the same room as him. Not that he can find it within himself to mind. The company is soothing. 

Both during the day and at night.

Cas won’t go to sleep anymore unless it’s curled up beside Dean on his too-small bed, their legs and arms a tangled mess. Being in the presence of the same person all the damn time should have made Dean annoyed and exasperated and, quite frankly, jumpy as all fuck but this is different. He thinks maybe it’s because he’s been with Sam for most of his life, except for those few awful years while his younger brother was at Stanford, and they literally lived out of each other’s pockets. But Cas’s gentle, tired blue eyes and perpetual bed-hair are so far from annoying he thinks he should be a little alarmed. 

But he has to admit, there is something soothing and just plain awesome waking to that sleepy, shy smile every morning. And so what if he’s gotten into the habit of kissing that smile away every day just to see what it will taste like? 

It tastes like perfection and he doesn’t think he will ever tire of it. 

For every smile that he kisses away, he makes up his own pie recipes in his head and sometimes he even gets around to baking them. It’s the made up ones that make Cas’s eyes light up and lips curl in a happy little smile. And it makes Dean happy. After all the years of being his brother’s caretaker, of always trying to just take care of things, this simple domesticity makes his soul feel lighter. Seeing the haunted grief in Cas’s eyes fading a little at a time, seeing Sammy slowly gaining his strength back, knowing that though Kevin’s nightmares aren’t getting better he at least seems less haunted during the day, Dean realizes that, at the end, he’s happy. 

And it’s a weird feeling but it’s his and he holds onto it with all his might. 

One month after the Fall becomes two. Charlie, on a whim, shows up at the bunker with her luggage and at least four gaming systems in toe and suddenly things are livelier. The company of four is not comfortable venturing outside the safety of the impenetrable bunker walls (Sam calls it Post Traumatic Stress and claims that they all have some degree of it but Dean just isn’t ready to face the world of monster fighting just yet) so naturally things got a little dull or maybe tensions between them rise (usually between Dean and Sam because as good as they are at sacrificing themselves for each other, they are also really good at fighting). Charlie’s arrival practically erases any tension that lingers in the air and humbles every single one of them once they have a game controller in their hands. 

Surprisingly enough, Cas is the only one that can beat her, much to Charlie’s chagrin and Dean’s delight. 

His very own kick-ass former-angel gamer. Say that five times fast. 

When he calls Cas that in bed, he gets a strange look and a small grin in return. 

“Charlie is a lot of fun,” Cas says demurely as Dean runs his fingers through the dark, unruly hair. It feels like feather down and he thinks about the former angel’s lost wings. He snorts in response. 

“You certainly had a lot of fun kicking her ass at Halo,” he mutters, still smarting from his own defeat. Cas chuckles softly into the darkness and tightens his arms where they are fastened around Dean’s torso. 

“Your human games are all just strategy. I have always been very good at that,” Dean huffs again and thinks it strange how Cas can be so modest about some things and so very not about others. Then his thoughts are scattered when there is a sharply inhaled breath in his ear and Cas tenses in his arms, “I wish I had done better against…to save my family. I should have done something,” the sudden change makes Dean ache and he rolls over, covering the former angel and kissing him until they both need to part for air. 

Then they kiss some more. 

And he thinks maybe he can come to terms with this; that he is in love with a broken, fallen angel who he doesn’t want to fix after all. He just wants to make Cas stop hurting. But they are all hurting in some way or another and he doesn’t know how to do that. Doesn’t know how to separate the hurt from someone’s soul and draw it out like a poison. 

So he kisses and touches and thinks about how much he loves this being that shivers and breathes and whispers soft moans every time they move.   
He thinks and he wishes he is as good a strategist as Cas so he could figure out away to help ease his friend’s guilt. 

He also thinks he may need to start leaving a light on because next time he wants to see what Castiel looks like when he comes. 

\--

One night Kevin has one hell of a nightmare (horrible yet darkly accurate pun) that wakes the entire bunker. 

Dean is up and out of bed before he is even truly awake, one of his knives in his hand and Cas a heap on the floor where he’d dumped him in his rush to get up. Blinking, he listens for a moment and realizes he knows that voice. It is a broken sound, less like screaming and more like the very pits of Hell are trying to break free from a human throat. It makes his hair stand on edge and he can’t stop the way his mind flickers back to his time spent in the Pit. 

Shaken, he helps Cas to his feet and they stand quietly together, touching each other’s waists and arms. 

“His nightmares are getting worse,” Cas finally whispers, sadness making his voice rougher than normal. Dean sighs because he’s right and presses a kiss to the former angel’s neck before moving to the door. 

“He wasn’t made out for this life,” Dean says quietly and he and Cas slip out of the room. There is a light that spills into the hallway from the living room that is almost too dim to see by but there was no missing the towering figure of his little brother easing open the door to Kevin’s room. His hair is wild and the droop to his shoulders tired but he still notices they are standing on the other end of the hallway. With a tilt of his head, he pauses then waves Dean away and disappears into the room. 

Dean blinks. 

Before he could stop himself, he tiptoes down the hallway, suddenly overcome with curiosity. Cas hisses softly at him but he ignores the warning, instead stopping at the door his brother had disappeared into and peeks inside. 

What he sees both surprises him and doesn’t. 

Sam is stretches out on Kevin’s rumpled bed, his huge frame side-by-side with the kid’s. In the light of the lamp on the bedside table, Kevin’s face looks practically gray but he is already nodding off again, his dark head resting on Sam’s shoulder. There was a soft, tolerant look on the younger Winchester’s face and his hand is grasped tightly between two much smaller ones, like it is a lifeline. Predictably, because Sammy really does know him better than anybody, he spots Dean in the doorway and lifts a shoulder. 

Dean understands. 

Here are two broken souls taking comfort in each other. After all the women Sam was forced to leave behind, all the potential love and relationships and happiness he could have had, after Jess, Dean understands. 

Kevin has no one left and Sam really doesn’t either, besides Dean. And while there may be nothing romantic in their comfort taking (he doesn’t think there is; Sam has never had the inclinations Dean does) they need the relief of each other’s company. He nods at his brother and slips away, back to his own room where his blue-eyed former angel waits. 

“Is Kevin alright?” Cas asks as Dean eases into the bed then hums when he’s pulled down for a kiss. 

“Fine,” Dean whispers and seeks the heat and slick and warmth of those full, delicious lips. Lips that cling to his, that taste like apples and cinnamon and rainwater. It was the kind of kiss that has them both hard and panting and needing, filthy with too much tongue and teeth and desperate, grabbing hands. He nearly loses it when Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and grabs his ass with both hands. 

Somehow they manage to tear all their clothes off before they are thrusting and touching and grinding. There will be bruises in the morning and sore muscles but as they slide and move and connect, it is glorious. 

Dean gasps Castiel’s name as he plunges over the edge and shivers through his orgasm when Cas whispers Dean’s name in return. 

This time he thinks that he doesn’t need to see anything. 

There was a connection between them that will always be enough. 

\--

When Cas comes up to him with a determined tilt to his jaw, his grief obliterated by unwavering resolve, Dean makes a celebratory lemon meringue pie. 

“I want to find my brothers and sisters and I want to unlock Heaven,” his voice is strong, echoes of his former angelic power making Dean’s breath catch. It takes him a moment focus yet when he does, he finds himself pinned by the strength of Cas’s conviction in his huge, blue eyes, “I want to take Heaven back from Metatron and I want to make him pay for what he’s done.” The thirst and anger in his voice was sexy as fuck and Dean finds himself smiling. Behind him Sam and Charlie sit at the table watching, eyes wide, though there is a smile starting on Sammy’s lips, “Will you help me, Dean?”

Dean grins. “I was wondering when you were gonna ask,” and he was. A week after Kevin’s nightmare, Cas has changed. He’s become a little sharper, more focused. He speaks a little more but his words have more direction. He is a little more like the angel they all used to know. 

Dean glances at his brother then at Kevin who’s listening tiredly from the living room then at Charlie. The sharp determination that burned in Cas’s gaze was mirrored in their expressions as well, in the identical nods he receives to his unasked question. This is gonna happen, I’m helping Cas with this, you guys with me? 

And they are. 

This is their family; the five of them. They are going to fight this as a family and they are going to win. Because that ias what they do. This gives them back a purpose, a reason to keep on fighting. It gives them back something none of them were aware they had lost; a drive to fight, to do the right thing, to defeat the bad things in the universe. To fight the fight Dean and Sam had been fighting their entire lives. 

Their fight for family. Their fight for love. 

Dean turns to the former angel and reaches out to fit his fingers and palm into the empty spaces of Cas’s hand. 

“Yeah, okay. Lets go win your home back,” 

For love.

For Cas. 

 

End Part 1.


End file.
